


The Doctor of Slender Mansion

by Izuki



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Canibalistic OC, F/M, Gore, Jeff totally loves Jane, Murderers having normal relationships with each other, Psychos goofing around?, graphic depictions of death, more relationships and characters later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izuki/pseuds/Izuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Hyde is a genius doctor, who has become a creepypasta. Let's see how he fits in with the others, shall we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor of Slender Mansion

**Author's Note:**

> So Jason is my OC, but i think his concept is pretty good. I hope you like him, but if not...I don't care! I'm writing this for me, so even if it isn't popular, i'm only going to stop when i reach the end of the story, or get bored of it.

Jason Hyde, that’s me. I’ve just graduated med school, at the ripe age of seventeen at that! I chose this path at an early age. I’ve got brown hair and grey eyes, black rimmed glasses, and very pale skin. I’ve memorized every muscle, artery, pressure point, and organ in the human body, along with all the bones, since my childhood. My first memory was looking through an anatomy book. I kind of think that I was pushed into this when I was a child, as my father owns a clinic. I’m actually working their right now.

Me: So Mrs. Smith, what seems to be the problem right now?

Mrs. Smith is a regular visitor, so regular, that I’ve known her since I was little.

Mrs. Smith: I have the worst cough dearie. *cough* Congratulations on becoming a doctor by the way.

Me: Why thank you ma’am.

I grab a tongue depressor and sit down in my chair next to her.

Me: Open wide.

She complies and I press her tongue down.

Me: Nothing stands out…a little red but that’s to be expected if this is a persistent cough. 

I pull back and go to my chart. She’s got an allergy to most to all meds I could prescribe for a cough.

Me: Are you allergic to elderberries? 

Mrs. Smith: No dearie, I make elderberry pies all the time.

Me: Well that’s good to hear.

I open my herbal remedy cabinet and pull out the elderberry syrup, an old native American remedy for coughs. No medicine that she’s allergic too either. I made this batch myself.

Me: Just take a spoonful of this with some nice tea once in the morning and once at night, and you should be fine in no time.

I place the jar in her hands.

Me: And don’t worry about returning the jar when you’re done with it. Just focus on getting better, alright.

Mrs. Smith: Thank you dearie, you’re going to be such a good doctor.

She gets up and leaves. I lean back in my chair and set my hands behind my head. That’s when things get weird. This was a small clinic, so we didn’t usually see emergency cases, but the hospital E.R. was full today, so they sent him our way. Luckily, I’m me, so surgery is not off the table. I’m the only one in the clinic that’s certified to perform surgery, and there was a need for it. I watched as my father pushed a man down the hall. The sheet on him was slightly bloody, so I ran after them, pulling on some latex gloves and a medical mask.

Me: What happened?

Dad: He was in a crash, a shard of glass is stuck in him.

Me: Alright, I’m on it.

I take my father’s place and go into the sterile room we keep for situations like this. I didn’t have time to change into a smock, so I’m glad my shirt under the lab coat is red tonight. I put the man on oxygen and start operating. To my dismay, his stomach was completely ripped open by the glass. My first surgery without another surgeon present...yet I’m strangely calm about this. I remove the glass and staple his stomach closed before inspecting the rest of his organs to see if there are any other problems. All of them seem fine, so I stitch up his wound. My lab coat got really bloody, it was only on my sleeves and the very bottom of my lab coat, so it wasn’t so bad. The man starts to wake up, so I go up next to him.

Me: You’re going to be fine, don’t move too fast or you’ll pop your stitches.

The man looks down at his stomach in horror.

Man: I’m…alive?

Me: That’s right.

He lets out a pained cry, so I have no choice but to put him under. 

Me: Did…he want to die?

My father runs in after hearing the cry and looks at me holding the needle.

Dad: What happened?

Me: Well, good news is he’s not in any danger of the wound killing him if he stays asleep while it heals…bad news is I think he was trying to commit suicide.

Dad: Well, I’ll just send him up to the hospital now that he doesn’t need emergency care, they can keep him on suicide watch.

Me: Alright.

He wheels the man out of the room, leaving the oxygen tank on the mystery man. I take off my lab coat and leave the room, I hang it on a hook outside of the sterile room, and I take off the gloves and mask. 

Me: Weird…

I toss the gloves and mask and return to my room, waiting for any other patients. None came, so I remembered the mystery man. How he reacted. I saved his life, but he looked like I had condemned him to a fate worse than death. I remember how bad his stomach was. His rather…large stomach for such a thin man. Hmm…wasn’t there a dish made with lamb stomach? Haggis if I’m not mistaken…and tripe as well. Hmm…

Me: I wonder if either are any good.

Curiosity got the best of me, so I found myself thumbing through a phonebook. I found the number of a local Scottish restaurant, so I called them, inquiring about whether or not they served haggis. To my delight, they did, so I went straight there after my shift ended. At first bite I was in heaven. I learned that it wasn’t just the sheep’s stomach, but also the heart, lungs, and liver. Of course there were other things in it, but the meat was very prominent in the dish. I happily eat every bite, and order another for the road. That lead to a usual pattern. I know it was bad for me, but it became a weekly ritual. Soon the waiters and even the owner knew me by name. They were keen on just calling me “The Doctor” after I absentmindedly came in wearing my lab coat, and it made them all come to the clinic whenever they needed a check-up. I was such a loyal customer, the chefs let me in after closing to teach me how to haggis is made, as it was in no way a threat to me coming in, you can’t just buy stomach, heart, lungs, and liver at the market after all. I even got to eat it after they were done, free of charge.

Dad: Jason, I know you’re a favored customer at that shop, and I’m glad that we’ve gotten so many visitors from there, but don’t you think you eat there too often? I mean…you’re lucky you have a fast metabolism, but you should worry about gout. 

Me: Don’t worry father, I make sure to spread out the meals enough, but I will cut back to one serving a week from there instead of the usual two so you won’t worry so much.

Dad: Well…alright, as long as you understand…oh, and the hospital called. Your patient made a full recovery and checked out this morning.

Me: Well that’s good.

Dad: Alright, I’ll leave you to your work.

He walks out and I scratch my head, slightly irritated. He tells me this on the day I was planning to go back for some haggis. Of course I haven’t told him exactly what I’ve been eating, because he’d be a bit disturbed that I’m eating sheep organs on a weekly basis. Hang my head a bit as I leave, my shift being over and all. I didn’t even take off my coat as I left. It’s been a long day. The only consolidation today was Mrs. Smith dropping by to return the jar, it was even full of candies. I love candies. All of them. I don’t care about flavors when it’s candy. I love all fruits, but not as much as haggis, so I find myself back at the restaurant quickly. They noticed my frown right away, and they only had so a table with another patron. Today got a bit worse I guess…at least, that’s what I thought. There was a familiar man getting drunk on Scottish whisky at my table. He was the man who’s life I saved. When he looked up at me, he frowned a bit.

Man: You’re that doc that saved me, ain’t you?

He was clearly drunk. He looked at me funny when he saw the haggis.

Man: You can eat that stuff?

Me: Favorite food actually.

He drinks more as I eat, soon a conversation started.

Me: So, how have you been these past two months?

Man: Crappy thanks to you.

Me: Huh?

Man: I crashed my car to kill myself you jack-ass. I plan to kill myself after this.

I look down a bit, to my haggis. I’ve almost finished, but I’m still hungry…but I promised my father I’d only buy one a week from this establishment. Suddenly I have an idea.

Me: Then you need a doctor present to declare you dead, right?

He looks up at me, then he nods.

Man: Well, havin’ someone to tell people to bury me beats letting my house get stunk up by my corpse.

We pay our tabs, and I lead the man out. We walk back to his place together. He lived alone in a nice house, surprisingly. He had no pets, nor did he have any community ties. I could see why someone in these conditions wanted to kill themselves. I smile as he shows me around, but when I see him go for a gun I stop him.

Me: Sir, I think you should go a more…clean way. Here.

I put on my gloves and pull out a syringe. I always keep one with me, just in case someone needs an emergency injection. I fill it with air and hand it to him.

Man: What do I do with this?

I lift up his arm gently, and I show him a vein.

Me: If air gets to your heart or brain, you die instantly. Quickly, painlessly, silently.

Man: Thanks doc.

He kills himself in front of me, and I can’t help but smile. He went quickly. He didn’t even squirm. I took the needle back, and I dragged him to the kitchen. His stitches were gone, but his scar was a good guide line. I gently cut him open with his own kitchen knife, luckily bleeding stops once the heart stops, so it was fairly clean, aside from the blood that was already in that area. It’s a good thing I’ve worn red under my coat ever since that surgery. Soon I’m looking at the same stomach that sparked my haggis obsession, along with the lungs, his heart, and his liver. I cut them out gently, carefully, expertly. I cleaned them off, and prepared the pluck the way I was shown. He even had the extra ingredients needed. Once his stomach was stuffed, it made its way into the oven. Of course I had to leave the staples so it wouldn’t fall apart while cooking. Soon an indescribably delicious scent came from the oven. It was even better than the scent of regular haggis.

Me: Oh god~.

I wipe my drool on my sleeve, getting a taste of the blood. It was actually really good. Such a raw scent. I could barely contain myself when I pulled the human haggis out of the oven. It was delicious, of course I had to take the staples out. I even made a small kidney pie out of him for a dessert. He was great. After that, I left out the back door, into the dark of night. I had no intent of calling the cops or anything. Before I got home taking the forest, I stowed my coat in a bag I found. I had successfully snuck inside and made my way to my room. I clean my own clothing so I was able to fill my hamper with dirty clothing around the clothing I was wearing earlier. I cleaned them easily. I just had to bleach my lab coat. Of course that wouldn’t remove traces of blood, but I rarely wash it already, so I could easily say it was from when I treated him that first time. It was almost a shame washing that coat. It lost its bloody raw scent that I found intoxicating.

Dad: Jason? 

I turn to look at him, rubbing his eyes, as it was well past midnight. 

Dad: Why’re you doing laundry this late at night?

Me: Oh, I realized I didn’t have clean clothing for tomorrow, and my coat was a bit dirty so I threw it in too.

Dad yawns.

Dad: Kay. Get some rest soon Jason.

Me: Oh, I will dad.

He slinks off and I make my way to my room with my now clean clothing. I lie back in my bed and dream of that delicious haggis I had tonight. The sheep stuff was nowhere near as good. The next day I was expecting to see something about the man on the news…but nothing. Nobody knew yet. Well, I’m not complaining. I didn’t do it because I wanted it to be found, I did it because I wanted to eat. The day was uneventful, so I basically just snacked on candy when I wasn’t checking on children’s temperatures. Flu season sure is boring…weird. I never thought of this as boring until I opened up that man a second time. Sure it was hard, but it was never boring. The only thing going through my head…I’m hungry. I want to go out to lunch…I want haggis. I’ve already eaten my haggis for the weak, plus some great bonus haggis with kidney pie.

Mrs. Smith: Dearie?

She pops her head in the room, and comes in completely when I wave her in.

Me: What seems to be the problem today?

Mrs. Smith: Dearie, I’m not here as a patient, I brought you some lunch.

She holds out a bag from the restaurant I frequent.

Mrs. Smith: Someone recognized me from here, and when I brought up your name they gave me this and said it was on the house.

I take it from her and smile.

Me: Thank you so much. How about a complementary checkup?

She shakes her head.

Mrs. Smith: Sorry dearie, but I have to be on my way.

She leaves and I go to the staff room. Dad was there too.

Dad: Taking lunch?

Me: Yeah, Mrs. Smith stopped by and brought me something from my favorite restaurant.

I pull it out of the bag and open up the foam container, haggis.

Dad: You did say it was Scottish, but I didn’t expect they sold haggis.

Me: Oh, I guess I noticed it on the menu once or twice.

I play ignorant and look at it, pretending to be a bit intimidated.

Me: Well…it would be rude to Mrs. Smith if I didn’t try it.

I take the fork and take a bite. My tongue feels like it was shot. My hand goes over my mouth, and I try to keep myself from vomiting. Luckily I didn’t puke.

Dad: Is it really that bad?

I nod, and he takes the fork. He takes a bite himself, and looks at me confused.

Dad: This tastes perfectly fine. What’s wrong?

Me: I-I guess it’s not my type of thing.

What’s wrong with me? I just ate this yesterday, and it was great! But now…it tastes like…if your tried to cook dirt with that thing you stepped in this morning…what’s with this!?

Dad: Well, I guess I’ll finish this for you. You can have the kidney pie in the fridge.

Me: Thanks dad.

I take the pie from the fridge, the size of my hand, and take a bite. This also tastes worse than last night, but at least I can stomach it better than the stomach. I was able to eat it without making faces. Soon I was back in my room sitting at the chair. I look over my stuff for no reason for the rest of the day, my stomach growling out of control the whole  
time. It’s not until I start walking home that I realize. It’s because of the bonus human haggis I had, and the kidney pie. Normal food…just doesn’t do it for me anymore. If I’m going to get full anytime soon…I’m going to need to do it again. Suddenly my phone starts ringing, obviously it’s dad.

Me: Yes dad?

Dad: Listen, I’m going to be late, so Mrs. Smith is going to come over and make dinner tonight. Don’t worry about saving any for me.

Me: Is Mr. Smith going to be there too?

Dad: I think so…why?

Me: Just curious. I haven’t seen him in a while.

Dad: Don’t be rude though, they’ve been looking out for us ever since your mother-

Me: I know dad. I’m going to pay them…the greatest complements tonight.

I’m so hungry…and I’m going to be alone with two people…

Me: It’d be great to have them for dinner tonight.

I hang up and make my way home, finding both Mr. and Mrs. Smith just at the doorway.

Mrs. Smith: Hello Dearie, did your father call you?

Me: Yeah, he said you’d be preparing dinner tonight.

Mrs. Smith: That’s right~. Go sit down and we’ll take care of you.

Me: No, you’re both guests…I’ll take care of you.

Mrs. Smith paid no mind to what I said and made her way to the kitchen, but I had a devilish idea.

Me: Mr. Smith, dad has a few bottles of wine in the basement, would you like to select one for dinner?

Mr. Smith: Lead the way my boy!

We went straight down to the basement, the wine wasn’t a lie, but rather, a perfect lure. He selected the finest wine in my father’s collection. While he was looking at the bottle, I stuck the needle into his neck and pushed the plunger down. He didn’t even have time to look betrayed. He just died. I caught the bottle before it hit the ground, and slowly set Mr. Smith’s body on the ground. I didn’t want Mrs. Smith to come running too soon. I pull the needle out of his neck and slowly walk up the stairs. Mrs. Smith had just finished gathering the ingredients she was going to cook with. I slipped my shoes off and silently snuck up on her. The needle was quickly stuck into her neck. This time I didn’t press the plunger so quickly.

Me: Thank you for dinner~.

After I say that, I push the plunger down and watch her life end. I slowly dragged her down to the basement, along with a plastic bag, and a kitchen knife. I set them down next to each other and cut them open. Again I remove the stomach, lungs, heart, liver, and kidneys from both of them, and set them into the bag, not worried about their organs getting mixed up. I lick the blood off of my knife while I carry the bag and bottle of wine up the stairs. I take off my bloody lab coat and set it on a chair. I drew the blinds in the kitchen and started to prepare the haggis. I poured a little bit of the wine in the mix. The kidneys went into another kidney pie. Soon I was sitting at the table with the haggis and kidney pie in front of me. I even lit some candles and got a glass of wine for myself. I happily ate while gingerly sipping the wine. It felt so classy, so good. You could taste the sweetness of betrayal in the food. I stopped at one glass of wine. It was merely for leisure, not to get drunk. I do the dishes and put on my lab coat. I can’t stay here anymore. I shove the knife into an empty satchel I’ve had for so long, and walk down to the basement where the Smiths were. I set my finger in their blood and write a message on the wall. “Thanks for the meal~”. And like that I left out the back, taking the woods back to my first victim’s house. His body still hadn’t been discovered, but his blood has already congealed too much. Good thing my coat is still wet. Again I wrote out the message, and took the knife I used on him. I shove it in the satchel as well and leave. Abandoning my old life and escaping into the woods. I left my phone on the counter of my first victim’s kitchen, so I won’t be able to be tracked in the future. From now on, this is how I’m going to live.


End file.
